Hellboy: The Weave Of Fate
by Theurgist
Summary: A new force enters Hellboy's world that threatens to change everything that he knows, and the big red guy is not happy. And that means not happy.   Note: A frank self-insert piece. Constructive feedback very welcome.
1. Chapter 1

It started with a beep.

The recording that came after it, was what changed everything.

…

…

…

"**Welcome To The Waste Management Center of Newark, New Jersey – The Department Of Squeaky Cleanup! Unfortunately, There Is No One Available At Present, Please Leave Your Name And Contact Details Or Visit The Newark Town Hall After The Beep**."

_[beep]_

"…"

"…"

"…fuck am I doing?"

_(thud, clatter)_

"Is… is this really real? I… um… is this the BPRD department, please?"

"…"

"Hello? Hello? I need…" _(breathing)_

"Please." _(crying sounds)_ "Please, please let me in. You have to be there. I don't know anymore. I… I can't remember if this is real."

"Please, I have to talk to Hellboy. If he's there. He has to be." _(louder weeping)_

"what the fuck am – _beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep_" 

The beep shuddered out, as the Head of Special Operations, FBI, towered over the wide meeting table, his jowls twitching. He hadn't been in the best moods lately, and this day was emerging to be brightest side… of a sewage farm.

"Technician."

A lankish man stepped forwards, pulling his floppish brown hair with nail-bitten fingers nervously. "Uh, this recording was taken this morning at 8.43am, and it took four hours to clean up the static from the voice recording. The video recording is unusable, and" he swallowed, "due to not triggering any warnings because of its state, a trace command was not put on the, ah, visitor?"

The jowlled man waited for a heartbeat, then snapped. "And?"

The certificated geek jumped. "Sorry, sir, Mr Manning… because of its state, it was deemed classifiable for Section 51 due to the nature of its contents, and, well…" he flicked his eyes to the audience, and back to the table.

Manning's cheeks flushed red, alerting the end of his short patience. "Enough…" he paused. "Technician. Sit down."

The technician sat down hurriedly, glad to be out of the spotlight. Manning turned to the audience, and narrowed his eyes at one particular member.

"Well?"

"Sorry to disappoint." A deep, rumbling voice that reminded of warm brass chunks in caverns, accompanied by a burst of purplish smoke, "but I don't have the foggiest idea what you're yapping about."

Manning inhaled angrily, but a secondary member of the audience spoke.

His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it echoed as clear as a bell, This particular voice might remind one of the deep thumping slaps of seawater against rock, so quiet until you listened to it.

"Mr Paul Byron… may I have the recording, please?"

The technician jumped at his name, the fingernail he was chewing on skittering out of his mouth and grazing his chin, which needed a 6'olock shave. He half turned to Manning, as if to seek permission, then quickly rethought it and scuttled out of his chair over to the audio player.

Removing the disc, the increasingly nervous Paul Byron walked towards the second audience member. It was only his third meeting with the fre – ah, top agents of BPRD, but his first time actually talking to them. He sure as hell was so nervous he was going to be fingernail-less for the next month, but he probably would parade around his department after actually meeting two guys like straight outta a comic book and surviving.

The technician held out the disc, trying not to shiver as an aqua-tinted hand, with a pebbly texture, pinkish claw-like nails and… thin pieces of flesh bridging the spaces between the fingers, reached out to take the disc.

"Thank you, Mr Paul Byron."

"Ah… just call me Paul. No problem. Yeah." Something exploded in the technician's mind, which would have him bragging on his intensive technical analysis with the heroes of BPRD.

As the technician walked back to his seat rather dreamily, the alien hand that held the disc moved, gently placing the disc on the table surface. Another hand rose from its sedentary position and hovered over the disc. It spread out, the thumb and pinky just about 180 degrees split, the webbing stretched. The etched and layered yellowish-pink palm twitched, its reflection mirrored in the shiny CD.

The air in the meeting room eddied slightly, Manning and technician staring at the disc.

The first person instead took a deep puff of the cigar, patiently waiting for the news. Finally, with the crinkling of gills, the second person shifted and peered at the disc, blinking his huge onyx-coloured eyes.

"I sense…" he murmured wetly. "I sense a young… ah… female. Hhhh… loneliness. Isolation. On a diverged path…"

"Alone…hhhh." The person finished, retracting his webbed hand from above the disc, and looked up at Manning, who looked pretty unnerved by his statement. A moment passed.

Manning scowled. "And? Is BPRD's security compromised?"

"Ah. Hhhh, perhaps yes. It was not a coincidence…"

_Icthyo sapiens_, otherwise known as Abe, was well known for his blue skin and similarities to the fish species. Found underground in an abandoned lab deep below a hospital in Washington DC, Abe was a lifeless body floating in a tank filled with a salt solution. Many of the tools and apparatus had rusted away, papers hastily stuffed in the fireplace – the unburnt pieces already damaged by decades and humidity. The only sustainable clue was a plate attached to the tank, reading _Icthyo sapiens_, dated April 14, 1865. An anthropologist amongst the modern evacuators of the lab linked it to the day that Abraham Lincoln had been assassinated, and nicknamed the floating body 'Abe'.

It was thought to be a fanciful hoax, much like the 'mermaids' of Victorian times – an age where con-men tried to pass off crudely taxidermised monsters as the real thing - until someone tried to test the lights. Unfortunately, some electrical insulators had rotted away, and the resulting shock took out several districts in Washington DC. The contents of the tank lit up like a blue sun, and the old glass began to give away, sprouting several fissures that bled water. When the lights came on, it took a few minutes before someone noticed the creature move.

Twenty minutes later, BPRD received a call.

After gruelling years of tests, Abe was permitted a "temporary citizen" status, and became an agent of BPRD. He quickly gained a nickname of 'Blue' and a reputation as a cool-headed, stoic person that was invaluable as the brains in the field and at headquarters. Completely aqua-skinned, his skin finely pebbled and patterned with zebra-like stripes, with a fine sheen of 'slime'. Just under his jawline, a few flaps of gills scored the flesh, set below a face that, despite its lack of human facial muscles, seemed unusually expressive. Huge twin globes of inky blackness mounted wide above two nostril slits and a pink spade-shaped mouth, gave a hint to his extrasensory abilities.

Agent Abe "Blue" Sapien turned towards his fellow agent, his first and foremost friend of 29 years, and his complete opposite. Abe watched him exhale another cloud of poisonous smoke, and spoke.

"Hellboy, I believe this does concern you."

The most infamous agent of BPRD since Lobster Johnson (still MIA) and The Torch Of Liberty, took another puff and narrowed his yellow eyes at Abe.

"I said I don't know anything about whoever… or whatever this is."

"I only meant that -"

Manning interrupted Abe, straightening his lapels with a sneer. "Are you sure, Hellboy? That you weren't sneaking around outside illegally, and some one followed you? Or you let them, hm?"

A sharp scrape of chair on lino, "hang on, Manning -"

"What I sensed," Abe spoke, his toneless voice echoing and neutralising the tension in the air, "someone trying to find validation. Loneliness. Isolation. Darkness." Abe repeated. "I felt no familiarity nor connection from this sample and Agent Hellboy, only that this person somehow has the knowledge of BPRD."

Agent Hellboy scowled, creases appearing in his heavy brow, overset by a pair of ground-down horns that gave away his demonic origins. That and the red skin was kind of a big hint. Tall and stoutly built, Hellboy was one of the most senior members of BPRD, many other members more senior long since retired or dead, or off active field duty. Ageless, perhaps immortal, and with superhuman characteristics (accelerated healing, immunity and durability), but all of that and pushing 70 didn't do anything about his short fuse.

Born in another dimension, the infant demon had popped out from a tear in space and time by an insane Russian-nazi fanatic, for how or why no one knew. Nevertheless, a raiding team of American Allies destroyed the Nazi camp and their spell, and one member, a recent Phd graduate, Trevor Bruttenholm had found the bright red demon-child. What the twiggy "Broom" did next bamboozled the secret Government: he adopted the demonspawn and nicknamed him Hellboy, for want of a better name – but the name stuck forever.

Hellboy grew lightening fast, attaining 'adulthood' at 15 years of age, and was finally permitted field duty at 17, picking up his second nickname of Red. Known as 'The Hammer' of BPRD, he had a charisma about him that put people at ease and gladly clink beer cans together, but he was not a someone to anger. Cross him, and you wouldn't see his yellow eyes narrow before his right fist – a oversized fist made out of unknown and untraceable stone that was twenty times harder than diamond, and yet had grown mystically with his body – knocked you out. That would happen if you pointed out how his metre-long tail was probably evidence of the missing link between man and monkeys.

Things were just beginning to calm down, after the murder of his adoptive father and with the official relationship with Liz Sherman, except for his seemingly endless vendetta with Manning, who was now the Acting Head of BPRD after Hellboy's late father.

Hellboy rolled the rapidly-shrinking cigar between his human left hand. "Which means – is this another freak or what? What if it's someone from that failed RV project?"

Abe sighed, a wet sound of his gills flaring with a burst of air. "The Remote Viewing Project was closed fifteen years ago, and for all possibilities, I still did not sense any familiarity. It seems I need to visit the site to glean more information." He turned to Manning. "With your permission, may we secure the area of the gate so I can perform a deeper analysis?"

Manning blinked, giving Hellboy a glare before answering the blue-skinned agent. "Very well. Can you get the subject's location?"

"I should be able to, Dr Manning."

"Hnh." Manning waved at the CD. "Meeting closed. And… Hellboy, watch _your _step."

Manning swept out of the room, dogged by the nervous technician, and Hellboy farewelled the Acting Head of BPRD's back with a left middle finger.


	2. Chapter 2

With black-suited agents wearing curly ear receivers stationed in a perimeter around the BPRD base, there were only two other suits hovering by the gate, ready to usher the two more obvious agents back underground at a radio call.

Hellboy stretched in the afternoon sunlight, the sun already low on the horizon, and the air had that chill that smelled like winter coming.

"Sure is a nice day to be out. Can't remember the last time came above in the daytime…" Hellboy squinted at the partially cloudy sky. "Abe?" he called out to the specially suited-up figure, who was swaying as the bubbles shivered in his breathing apparatus.

Abe scanned the ground by the gates, the roughly-gravelled road littered with withered leaves by the nearing-bare trees that surrounded the elaborately designed Waste Management Center. No footprints were obvious, but Abe already could feel all the after images that floated on the invisible currents of the air.

Now off in his own world, Abe let his consciousness drift, his hand rising and twitching like an antennae, slowly guiding his body over to the gate access panel. He vaguely heard his red-skinned friend mention something about the weather and beer. Bringing his focus together slowly, Abe began to shuffle through the psychic imprints to the most recent one. He sensed Hellboy's, Liz's and a few other powerful impressions, and the world flickered around him.

Time seemed to still as he narrowed his focus even more, reaching out for the shiny coded panel. It was more difficult than he'd thought it would be – all the residual energies rose from the deep chambers beneath his feet swamped him, tickling his frontal lobe. So much strangeness in one place, for so many years.

Calming himself down, Abe took a deep water-fuelled breath, the saline liquid washing his gills with rich oxygen. His focus returned, and letting his instincts guide him, turned his hand towards the light slope that led away from the gate. The chronological river shifted, and began to flow backwards.

Something flittered past his consciousness, and he snagged onto it. Abe released his sense of time, and it streamed through the net that was his psychic mind.

A figure appeared, a watered down impression, but a recent one nevertheless – and the one that Abe was looking for. A headache suddenly blossomed in Abe's left frontal lobe. He had received an itch when he was analysing the recorded message sample, but with the unfiltered imprint, his senses were becoming overloaded by static. Perhaps the very static that rendered BPRD's surveillance useless, save for the rudimentary answering-machine tape. Abe cast aside the static and the headache, focusing on the impression. He was certain now: it was a young female, perhaps middling twenty to thirty, with a heavy aura that probably lead to the static, where Abe had first sensed the loneliness. The figure plodded on, passing the blue agent, her features blurred out – but Abe was certain that she was a complete stranger.

_Complete stranger_… those words bounced back, causing an uneasy shift in his guts. The ghostly figure stood before the gate panel, and Abe felt rather than heard the same words from the digitally recorded sample, and he could feel the impression starting to break down, fading away.

Realising he only had moments before he couldn't glean anymore from the impression, he sought to find a clue to what or who the person was. Abe pressed his right hand into the blurred psychic impression, and swept with his mind-net.

Images and concepts flashed across his consciousness as though they were squirming fish caught, of random images. A darkened room. A roughly mind-shaped picture of Hellboy. The sensation of coldness. Hazy bright lights and coarse fabrics. Another mind shape of Hellboy. Threads stretching out into infinity. A room becoming even more darker, shadows multiplying.

A sudden, alien burst squirmed across his mind-net and slipped through, before Abe could seize it. It had been distinctly alien, something that reminded him of grayness and the concept of inverse. The impression had completed its recorded message, and was turning, to begin its post-designated path back beyond the slope and beyond BPRD's trace. Abe cast again, but the particles burst at his psychic touch and faded. His headache worsened, but he took another oxygen-enriched wash of water into his lungs, and spread his consciousness wider over the impression and its path.

As the impression shuddered and faded, Abe felt one last firm sliver peel away, and slap into his net, a little jolt of knowledge before the odd remanent vanished completely.

"Blue? You okay?" Hellboy called, leaning over from a safe distance behind Abe's back.

"Yes… yes, I am fine, Hellboy." Abe's gills popped in a sigh. "I have the certain location of the subject." 

Three hours later, the perimeter of suits had moved to enclose the Branch Brook Park. Passer-bys were told of a sewage spill in the park, and since it was nearing 7, most of the visitors had left the park for its curfew, and the park attendants were shuffled off to the side for a meeting on the sewage spill situation. No one thought any different as a huge garbage truck slowly drove through the border of agents.

Well shielded by hastily set up biohazard screens, Abe and Hellboy left the truck. Hellboy looked up at the fine ironwork arch that topped the gates to the Branch Brook Park. They were at the central east gate, and the sun had gone down an hour ago. The park was lit sombrely by electrically-fixed gas lamps, the early evening mist making the lights glow.

Hellboy felt damn nervous for some reason. He glanced sidelong at Abe, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet since doing his psychic thing at the BPRD grounds, save for divulging the location of the possible new freak to be. Blue's silence was telling Hellboy a lot of things, like what kind of connection whoever this dame had with himself, and it wasn't good.

Hellboy would feel a thousand times better if he had his good old Samantrian at his hip. However, when he started prepping it in the truck, Abe had waved his hand in a gesture of no, and that was it. When pressed, all the guy would say was "She is… not a threat."

The more Hellboy thought about it, the more irritated he felt. He had already planned the day before a phone date with Liz, whom was over on the West coast, visiting a potential pyrokenetic psychic. He wasn't supposed to be here, but some voice recording had mentioned his name and all of suddenly, he was involved.

What the heck was that about? The only women he'd known were the rare female agents of BRPD, the nurses at BPRD, the occasional staff at BPRD… even met Liz at BPRD. Only people he knew and ever met (with the exception of that boy on the roof) was BPRD.

So why was Hellboy here, at the entrance of a park, about to go pick up a freak? He looked at Abe, who was conferring with a nearby group of suits. He wriggled his stone fingers, hearing that familiar scrap of rectangular fingers against palm. That was it. Abe was being strange, and the whole mystery was making Hellboy itchy, making it to be a big goddamn deal. So what if some dame just stepped up to the answering machine and tossed in Hellboy's name? Father used to say that the most simple explanation was usually the correct one.

_Father_…

Blinking, Hellboy squinted into the misty darkness of the park, wondering if he should just go ahead and take a walk, skip a few stones, see those lions and pick up the target on the way back. He wondered if there were any fast food stalls in the park – dinner was supposed to be about now, and his stomach was starting its first stage of gentle reminders.

Abe finally finished whatever he was telling the suits, and went over to Hellboy. Abe pulled his trenchcoat closer, a slight precaution in such a public place.

"Well? Let's go. I'm getting' hungry."

Abe's gills popped in another wet sigh, as he looked at his best friend (despite remembering the occasions where he had tried spiking his breathing gear with alcohol for "fun times") and "fellow freak". He was unsure where to begin or what to tell Hellboy, but his gut was urging him to. Only, he had to whittle it down to simple layman's terms, and he felt frustrated that even he himself couldn't articulate all the sensations and images he had been slapped in the lobe, by that final burst of information. It had all seemed so random, yet…

"Red…" Abe began, and took another lungful of water. "The park is clear, but for the homeless, which are located far from the target. The target is about 318 metres from this gate, directly under the overpass on the diagonal path."

"Ok, so let's go!" Hellboy made to move, but Abe stood still. Hellboy squinted at Abe. "There's something you ain't telling me."

"I… hhh. I am trying to organise my thoughts, to best explain what I received in my analysis at the BPRD gate."

"Abe, this is just a dame, right?" Hellboy shrugged. "We just gotta pick her up and process her?"

"Simply put, yes. However…" Abe's whisper stopped Hellboy's shift again. "Do you have belief in fate and destiny?"

"Huh? What are you talkin' about?"

"There is certain paramount evidence that suggests the concept of fate and destiny are indeed pre-destinated events in time that cannot be altered without great risk or sacrifice, and requires powers beyond -"

Hellboy held up his right hand. "The point?"

"What I sensed from the imprint that this subject left behind… is not of our worlds. Not of our time streams if you will, the pre-destinated paths that we have. She has no place at all, in any point of the time that surrounds us."

"And?" Hellboy snapped, feeling more nervous and itchy by Abe's bizarre turn.

"Yet, she knows you. Not just your name…" Abe hesitated. "… but intimately."

Silence. Hellboy's brain whirred at high speed, trying to digest Abe's last word. "Whoa, whoa." Hellboy stepped back. "No. Liz's my girl, and she's always been the one for me. I've never seen other girls, well, there were those nurses when I was little -"

"I cannot explain why, but the sensation was of close knowledge of you, and yet I felt no familiarity. It… reminds me of that parable, of finding a watch in the desert. From whence did the watch come from? It did come from a watchmaker, but where is the watchmaker? Who is the owner? How did it come about"

Abe pressed on, ignoring Hellboy's disbelieving expression, "This person should not exist, but yet, she exists. What does this mean?"

"Is it an alien, then?"

Abe blinked, and stared at Hellboy. "Hhhh. Yes. Perhaps. However, she seems perfectly human in every respect, save for whatever neutralised the electronic surveillance system."

Hellboy looked at the park entrance again. "So what you're sayin', this is a possible alien, but human, with weird… uh… whatever. So what do we do, then?"

Abe took another watery breath, and gestured towards Hellboy. "I am afraid… it must be what _you_ choose to do."

Hellboy blinked, and shifted his feet. "What?"

"As it stands, it is ultimately your decision as to whether BPRD shall pick the target up or not."

"What?"

"If you choose for BPRD to pick the target up, then you must enter the park in…" Abe checked his watch. "less than 7 minutes. If you choose not for BPRD to pick up the target, then we may return to our headquarters immediately, and permit the target to exit the park by the South Gate without any interference."

"What, what? I thought the whole plan was to pick an' process her!"

"The one word that would best describe the target would be… catalyst. Though we have no knowledge of our future actions or plans that are lain out for us, key events are already set out for each of us. The introduction of this particular subject will…" Again, Abe hesitated.

"What?" Hellboy growled, his short fuse smouldering already.

Again, Abe ignored Hellboy's rising temper. "Alter all destinies before us, for better or worse, on an unfathomable level. Perhaps she will be with us for only a moment, or perhaps forever. Yet the decision whether to intitate her is entirely yours, because she named you, and created before us a key event."

"It is up to you whether to permit her into your world, or to leave her to her… isolated, path."

Hellboy breathed, letting all of what Abe said sink in, trying to make sense of all of his big words and concepts. Hellboy started to pat his pockets, and scowled automatically when he vaguely remembering smoking his last cigar at the meeting with that pig ass. And it was one of those secret last-cigars because Liz didn't like the stink – at least, he was allowed to smoke for celebrations, not when he finished doing the laundry, but according to _his_ opinion, it was a feat unto itself.

_Fate? Destiny?_ He half-remembered that crazy bald Russian screaming that kind of mumbo jumbo shit at him, to destroy the world and yada dada. Look how that turned out. Hellboy was the poster boy for anti-prophecies, and…

And what?

What was Hellboy supposed to do, and not to do? He again tried patting down his pockets, a more careful one for any cigar, cigarillo or even a cigarette that he had missed. And now his stomach was starting up its second round of reminders, a bit of a more mean round. And he needed to talk to Liz, just to hear her voice…

"4 minutes."

Hellboy half jerked, remembering where he was and what he was doing. Or meant to be doing. He looked around, seeing all the agents standing around, just looking at Hellboy.  
Waiting.

Hellboy looked at the park. The poorly-lit reserves of the public space sat there.

Waiting.

_Why me?_

Hellboy opened his mouth. "Fuck it."

"…Hhhh?"

"I said, fuck it. Let's just pack up. I don't need - want this drama. Like I said, I'm hungry, let's just go back home and chill and just put this in the x files. Or something."

Abe stood unmoving and unblinking, his aqua skin rendered greyish by the late autumn night. That and the khaki trenchcoat washed him out – he ought to have got a good leather one like Hellboy's.  
"Are you certain?"

"Well – Yeah, heck, yeah. Let's go."

Abe turned and began to walk towards two agents whom were conferring with each other. "Agent Miles, Agent Berkshire?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Fuck."

_Fuck._

"Fuck, fuck." Hellboy muttered. "What the fuck am I doin'?"

_Fuck all knows._

Hellboy looked skywards. The sky was cloudy, probably hinting at a rainstorm the next day. He couldn't see any stars – the mist and the park lights were overshadowing the sky, and the moon wasn't due to rise anytime soon. Hellboy rammed his hands deeper into his coat, feeling the leather strain a bit especially with his ol' stone right.

_What the fuck am I doin'?_

Hellboy stomped down the nicely paved path, already rather slick by the build up of dew. He passed groves of bare trees, their skeletal fingers reaching up into the air. Them probably were the cherry trees Newark's famous for. Pity they're ugly now.

Hellboy thought of Liz, wondering if she would sneak out with him one night in spring, see the Cherry trees or something. They could even bring some wine for her, Buds for him – and Hellboy's radio buzzed, making him jerk. Pressing a button, Abe's whispery voice came through clearly.

"Are you at the intersecting point yet, Red?"

"No. The one after the fork by the lake, right?"

"Yes. Also…"  
"What?"

"There is still time for you to reconsider, and there is one minute remaining if you stay on your current path and pace."

"Blue, stop freakin' me out." Hellboy growled into the radio, still walking. He could see the first fork, and the shimmering blackness of the lake just beyond some trees. "I ain't no chicken, and I don't want to hear Manning go yada dada at me. I'm pickin' this kid up for ya, then goin' home to have fajitas. I ain't afraid of catalysts or that fate mumbo jumbo. Alright?"

"Very well. I shall see you at the entrance. Over and out."

Hellboy clicked off the radio, and walked across the fork, nearly pausing. The park was eerily silent, and the overpass above had been closed off, so all traffic noises had faded a while back. There wasn't even a murmur of the wind. Even the halls of the deep levels of BPRD weren't as quiet as this park.

Hellboy suddenly got a cold, fluttering feeling at the bottom of his gut, and his complaining stomach suddenly switched off. Hellboy slowed his pace, suddenly wondering if it was too late if he was past the first fork now, with the second fork in sight, leading to the path that went around the lake.

_Shut up!_ Hellboy thought savagely, and quicked gauged his gut feeling. It wasn't twistin', like bad, like when it was Liz bein' gone or in that Russian tomb or when some of his BPRD friends went missin' from a mission. It was… like he was nervous, but of what?

Of some weird dame?

Of fate?

Hellboy snorted, and nearly panicked inside when he saw that he was metres away from the second fork. Smartly mentally slapping himself, he looked around warily for any movement. What was it that Blue had said? _To the south_.

Hellboy stopped under a pine tree, its needle-like leaves still stuck on the branches, shielding him from a nearby lamp. Standing in the shadow, he peered into the gloom that hung around the north path. The mist was becoming thicker, and Hellboy thought of hiding and seeing whom the dame was. Would he recognise her? Abe had said that she was middle twenties to early thirties, about the same age as Liz. Only, Liz was the only gal he knew of that age – all the others had aged to be over 35, and there hadn't been any new female recruits for the last decade.

The night was so quiet, the park so still, that the shuffling steps thudded in the air like a parade of elephants.

Out of the gloom came a shape, a huddle of mismatched fabric.

Thud, thud, thud went the figure, her heavy steps dragging across the paved stones. Her shoulders were down, and her hands were wringing, trying to pull the sleeves of ill-fitting jumpers over the knuckles. She came closer, and Hellboy could see her face wince as she passed a tree's shadow to be hit in the face by the lamp's light.

_She's just a kid_.

It was clear now that she was homeless, for all of her dirty layered clothes and her face was pale and shallow, her hair a dark colour that poked out from under a woollen hat that looked like it badly needed a wash. Or just jump into a horses' trough. Perhaps even fumigating would be needed. But her face, Hellboy couldn't see clearly. She hung her head, casting shade on her face from the lamp.

Hellboy felt the bottom of his stomach start to flutter nervously again, and he felt an unfamiliar feeling creep over him, as he tried to look into her face. There was a feeling, a strange weird one that he might have seen her somewhere, but it couldn't be.

She was ten, nine, eight metres away, when Hellboy, quite unthinkingly, automatically stepped out from under the shade with a boot to stone that rang clearly in the chilly air. 

Her face snapped up at the sound, her body tensing – ready to run – and she looked at Hellboy. Hellboy looked right back, trying to find familiarity in her face – he had that bizarre feeling again, that he should recognise the girl, but he couldn't, and he couldn't remember if he'd ever met a lady who had a nose as long as hers or with a pointed chin like that, and greenish eyes circled by dark bags, though that was probably due to being on the streets and all.

The girl, however, gasped loudly in recognition. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth, her fingernails obviously pink and bloody from excessive nail biting. Her eyes were wide, white all around the iris, staring so hard at Hellboy that he imagined them popping out with a loud _pop_.

"Ah… ah…" the girl tried to speak, breathing haggardly. "…Ah!"

Hellboy shifted his weight, trying to ignore the constant fluttering in his stomach. There was something about this girl, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe he met her mother at BPRD or something? She was kind of tall, her eyes probably level with his nose.

The girl struggled to speak, her eyes welling up. Hellboy blinked, and spoke.

"Are you alright?"

"_oh!_" The girl gasped again. She took an unbalanced step, then another, and quickly covered the distance between her and Hellboy. She stood half a metre, her eyes still saucer-shaped.

"… …Hellboy?" the girl whispered, a desperate note in her voice niggling at Hellboy. What was it with this kid?

"Yeah, that's my name?"

The girl reached out tentatively, and touched Hellboy's coat lapel, nearly jumping herself from the touch. "_oh!_" she whispered, "you… you're really real…"

"Yeah, yeah, so's the Santa Claus. Who are you?" he snapped, nearly regretting it immediately.

To Hellboy's horror, tears began to fall from the girl's eyes. She began to tremble, her hand still pressed to Hellboy's chest. Hellboy could feel her body shaking all the way up to her fingers on his chest; he was starting to get damn nervous, and he didn't like that. He was trying to decide what to do next as the girl started to speak again.

"oh gods, you're _really_ real, I…" More tears streamed from her eyes, but she half-twisted her mouth into a smile, emitting a tiny chuckle as she raised her other hand to touch Hellboy's cheek. Her fingers found the raised stubble of two days bygone with the razor, and they travelled up to touch his cropped horns. Her touch only served to give him a nasty sort of shiver along his shoulders.

"… not a dream at all." She whispered, a shy but definitive smile spreading across her face.

Hellboy began to scowl, still feeling his funny stomach and creeped out by this weird homeless girl who seemed familiar but… he raised his hands, about to gently push her arms away so he could step away, when the girl stepped in the last distance, both of her hands falling and rising to meet each other on opposite sides of Hellboy's sideburns. Before Hellboy could react, the girl kissed him.

A jolt laddered up his spine, and a humming was heard. Hellboy blinked, and he stepped away from the girl brusquely. The girl stumbled forwards, but she was already covering her mouth, red spots appearing on her cheek.

"oh… oh, I'm sorry! I…" she babbled.

Hellboy tried to think, but somehow his brain wasn't working. Ok, this was bad. Very bad. What was he supposed to do next? He could still hear the girl muttering about apologies and excuses, and his body was numb, and he couldn't think.

Just at that moment, Hellboy's radio went off, causing Hellboy to jump and the girl to jump even more higher. Eternally thankful to the whole board of gods for the diversion, Hellboy hurriedly clicked on the radio and Abe's came through again, rather staticky. _Static_. Hellboy looked at the girl, who blinked back owlishly.

"…alright, Hellboy?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's alright. Nothing happened. At all. Just fine."

"Did you not meet the subject?"

"Ah… no, yeah, she's here. Standing there."

"Is – is that Abe?" The girl asked, her face lighting up again.

Hellboy glared down the radio, trying to will his feeling through the waves. "She _knows_ you too, by the way."

"Nevertheless," spoke Abe smoothly, "are you able to escort the subject back to point A for retrieval? I assume the static that I am hearing is due to the subject's abilities, but it is not as affective as I had originally estimated."

"Okay…" Hellboy's brain started working again, which was good. This was too weird, and this kid was too weird. He needed to get out of this place, and wash his hands of the girl. And his mouth. Hellboy licked his lips automatically, and tasted salt. With horror, he realised it was the aftertaste of the girl's tears that had somehow gotten on her lips, and turned away, his brain nearly folding under again.

"Red?"

"Yeah, yeah, just… okay, I'm gonna come back. I just gotta escort her, right? Then not my problem anymore?"

"…Yes," whispered Abe. "You are aware that…"

"Okay, see ya in a min. Over and out." With that, Hellboy cut off whatever Abe was going to say, and rubbed his mouth. _Okay_. Cool down, bud. He was the greatest paranormal investigator, and he wasn't goin' to be shook up by some kid's kiss. All he had to do right now was to deliver this… package back to BPRD, leave them to process, tag and toss the kid. Then he need never see this kid again, and lie back, have them fajitas and ring up Liz.

_Liz_.

Fuck. What was he going to do? Think. No, don't think. Just process the kid. Hellboy started to walk, looking down the path that led back to Central East Gate. He had gone a few metres when he realised he didn't hear the second set of footsteps, and turned. The kid was still standing there, biting what remained of her fingernails and staring at Hellboy with trepidation and hunger.

"What? Come on!" Hellboy gestured with a jerk of his left. The kid flinched, and scuttled after Hellboy. As he resumed his walking, he cast back, "and stop biting."

"'kay." The kid said quietly, her steps half-skipping to keep up with Hellboy's quicker-than-usual stride.

_A few minutes, then she's gone. Outta sight, outta mind._ His stomach still had that nasty flutter in it, which was probably craving for them fajitas. Yeah, that had to be it –

"Do you have the cats?"

Hellboy's steady stride faltered, but he stayed his course. Only maybe 200 metres left, easy, then just toss her. But he had only gone a few metres when the girl spoke up louder. "Sorry for the weird question, I just wanted to…"

Hellboy stopped, and heard the girl scuffle at his sudden halt. Hellboy half turned around deliberately, his eyes locked on some trees a distance away. Without looking at the girl, he spoke. "Look, kid…"

"My name's Liz."

Again, Hellboy's brain crashed. Maybe it was just a really bad day. Maybe he shouldn't have gotten out of bed, just flicked the tripper on the door so no one could get in and slept all day. He started to get annoyed, flickering on that short fuse, at Abe. Abe was all mystic and mysterious, but he was the one with the brains. How come he didn't pick up this kid? Did Abe plan this? Was this some April Fool's prank?

The kid, sensing something was wrong, backpedalled. "Oh, oh! I forgot, there's Liz Sherman. Well… um, how about my last name? Weaver?" She offered, wringing her hands.

_Weaver? _Now that name felt sinisterly familiar. A double meaning, a double whammy. He had to have met someone related to this girl – this was the only explanation, only way this girl could have known who he was and why there was that odd sensation with her.

This was stupid. Taking too long. Just kick her off already.

Ignoring the girl, Hellboy turned back and set back on his flight to the gate and the BPRD team, also ignoring the fact that his pace was a little frantic now. The girl's sneakers hit the pavement in a half-jog, trying to keep up. Hellboy felt rather than heard her open her mouth to speak again, and immediately interjected.

"_Shut up!_"

The girl closed her mouth with a click, becoming a silent jogging shadow. He imagined her saucer-eyes boring into his back, and thanked all the heavens and be when the gates came into sight, blurred rods and lattice in the mist. People were moving around in the bright lights of the BPRD set up, and Hellboy was now close enough to see the familiar silhouette of Abe.

Hellboy slowed his pace down, and jerked his chin in a nod to Abe, who had noticed Hellboy's arrival. Abe waited patiently as Hellboy passed the gates, pausing to listen for the dogging steps, and quickly stepped aside. "Your turn, Blue."

Abe blinked slowly as the brilliant scope lights washed over the quarry, who had been so intent in matching Hellboy's steps, that she had only just realised where she was and the audience that was just noticing her. He felt her mind tremble, sensing her fear and confusion, which nearly exploded through his own questing mind, as the suited agents moved towards her. Everybody but Abe and Hellboy winced, as static suddenly flared through their receivers, causing many to tear it out of their ears.

She stepped sideways, reaching out for Hellboy half-blinded by the bright lights, trying to hide behind his bulk. He saw her hand hovering for his arm. No way. Game over.

Hellboy jerked away, knocking away her hand and stomping off towards Abe. Passing his best fish mate, Hellboy growled. "I'm done. Do whatever you want, I'm goin' home." He waved at a nearby suit, already in his pace far away from the kid behind him. "Hey, you! Bring around tinted wheels, will ya? I wanna go home NOW."

As the suit scurried to find a free car to escort Hellboy home quickly, Hellboy resisted the urge to look back over his shoulders, and tried to erase the girl from his head.

However, the afterimage still burned in the back of his head, of the girl's face when Hellboy jerked away from her.


	4. Chapter 4

For the next two days, Hellboy studiously avoided anything to do with her, in person and in conversations. His life was still normal, and while he had missed Liz's call that… night, he had two other phone dates, and one of them was pretty damn sexy. Yeah. Still…

Hellboy was just mindin' his own business, wandering down a floor in one of his 'patrols' around BPRD, nodding at the suits that passed, stretching out his 12th leather coat with his stone fist rammed in the right hand pocket. Then he rounded a corner, and nearly ran into an entourage of black suits and white coats, with the kid in the centre, the odd one out in a standard-grade grey gymsuit.

Her face, morosely staring dead ahead, perked up and her eyes snapped to Hellboy, her mouth hitching a breath to…

Hellboy's brain went into overdrive as he slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel, rotating 180 degrees like some damn ballerina and hastening back the same way he came.

He stayed in his room for the rest of the day, and for the next few days, always took a peek around the corner and over his shoulder.

Hellboy fingered the edges of his right fist, watching the clock. Soon it was going to be 11am, and it would be 8am in Los Angles. Liz was still trying to track down the potential pyro, but the target was proving to be very evasive. But the last phone conversation, only yesterday, had Liz hinting that she was very close to closing the case and returning to Newark, and right into Hellboy's waiting arms.

Hellboy's human finger found a wide scratch in the impenetrable stone, rubbing it as he approached a familiar frame of thought.

When would the day arrive, that he would be allowed out of this hole and permitted to go anywhere in the world? To walk down busy European streets and get that fancy Italian icecream? Do a few surf moves in Hawaii? Go visit that Australia, where everybody said 'g'day' and had kangaroos for pets. To take Liz out on a proper date, get her mind off BPRD, her fire and Hellboy's messy room.

The minute hand was taking ages to cross over 11, the hour hand already waiting there. He didn't want to disturb Liz's sleep, and he always had that niggling feeling that Liz wasn't always happy, that she might get sad and then leave BPRD again. But things were good, right? They'd finally kissed, and then a lot of happy moments after that, _real_ good ones, so there weren't any reason for Liz to leave anymore, but still. Hellboy picked up a cat that was rubbing its head madly on his knee, cradling the fuzzball in his right hand and scratching its chin. The black and white patched 'Saint' purred crazily over his fingers, its kneading paws scratching down the stone palm, filing off the cat's sharp claws.

Hellboy really ought to clean up the sty that was his room, but he couldn't be bothered – he'd clean up the night before Liz came back, and she wouldn't be the wiser about the two overflowing bins of Chinese takeaway and equally overflowing kitty litter trays. And he had to somehow toss all the empty Buds direct in the recyclin' bins, since the cleaners weren't due till next week. Liz might raise the issue of "alcohol" if she saw the number that Hellboy was going to dispose before her return.

Problem was, for his wilful distance from the whole kid case, he had no idea when the process would finish and for the kid, whoever she was, shipped off out of BPRD. He considered asking Abe, but half quailed at the thought of renegading on his 'request' that even his best buddy not mention one syllable about the case or subject. Abe knew Hellboy too well, psychic lobe or no, and though there was this unspoken agreement never to go prying into each others' lives and minds – Hellboy still didn't want to give any hint, any at all that his brainy fish friend would pick upon.

Any hint at all about what had happened… whatever that was.

'Saint' the cat tired of chin itching, and jumped from Hellboy's stone palm to seek other amusements beyond the understanding of humanity. Hellboy blinked, and looked at the clock – it was 10 past 11. Hurriedly, he picked up his phone and hit "Last Number Dialled". Hellboy tapped a bare foot on the polished cement impatiently, ignoring a new cat's demand for its share of chin rubs. As the customary BPRD message rang off its warning of classified information and tracking and encryption, yada dada, Hellboy heard the phone ring on the other end of the line. It was picked up on the third ring, and Liz's bemused voice came trotting through the line.

"A little late, Red."

Hellboy grinned, everything just melting away at the sound of her voice.

"Heya, babe."

"Hey, Red." Liz's voice smiled. "I was just finishing getting dressed."

"Aw, already? I was lookin' forward to a little play-by-play commentary."

"In your dreams, Bud. Mike is next door, and he will come in anytime to pick me up for breakfast."

Hellboy sighed. "I wanna pick you up for breakfast. One of those Diners, like in Gilmore Girls. The lot. And…" he grinned, "have you for breakfast dessert."

"Oh? I thought your favourite breakfast dessert were… 'pamcakes'?" Liz teased, referring to Hellboy's mispronounced word for a stack of fluffy, flat fried dough that he fell in love at first (and admittedly strenuously urged) bite when he was only two Earthen years old.

"Ah, geez. Don't make me choose."

"Ha ha ha."

The phone went quiet, then Liz spoke. "Hey, Hellboy…"

"Yeah?"

"I just heard a rumour last night about you and this person that you picked up four days ago -"

Hellboy's heart skipped a beat.

"- and I was wondering why you didn't tell me?"

"Ah," Hellboy began, already trying to think of who could have found out about the damn kiss, was it Abe, no it couldn't be, was it a suit lurking around, shit, what to say – "see, it wasn't my fault, 'cause -"

"What do you mean? Did something happen?"

_Huh?_ "Hang a minute, what are you askin' about?"

"Well, I was surprised that you didn't tell me about a new potential BPRD agent being recruited, like the first female candidate for a decade aside from me, and that you picked her."

Hellboy blinked, slowly absorbing what he had heard.

New… BPRD agent? His shoulders suddenly relaxed. So no one knew. He was safe.

Now… A rumour about a new female agent? Yeah, right. Like that rumour that some rookies had spread, about the cafeteria food made out of the monsters that suits brought back. It took a lecture and an upgrade of the menu before people would start buying lunch at work.

"Ha, that's probably just another bullshit rumour. Manning's got a fly up his ass lately, even though I saved his sorry ass in Russia."

"Hmmm. And who compromised security measures for just a slab of beer, using someone's security card and expensive car?"

"Hey, hey, there's no way he couldn't afford that kind of car without some sort of insurance, right? I was just in need, and he wasn't in his office -"

"How convenient." Liz smothered her giggle, and switched topics. "But you picked up that 'potential recruit', right?"

Damn, Liz was like a dog sometimes with a bone. "Look, it was just another matter of security measures with that dimwit. I got fingered, and I had to go pick up this kid. Just some homeless dame. I don't get what the problem is, so I'm outta of the situation."

"Hmmm. Okay." Liz spoke, and Hellboy could imagine her frowning slightly at his jumbled explanation.

Luckily, Liz seemed to accept it and gave a small sigh. "I hope it works out, then. Ah – I think I better go, Mike's waiting. Today's got a definitive lead at last, so I'll see you soon, hopefully. See you, Red…"

"See you, babe!"

The phone began to whistle its dial tone, and Hellboy set the phone back in its cradle. Better catch that damn pyro soon, so the sooner Liz was back to BPRD, and everything would be great.

The rumour… As much as Hellboy wanted to believe it was just a rumour, one of the mandates of BPRD's investigation procedure was this: "behind every rumour, myth, legend is always a truth."

Hellboy held his breath as the lift doors whirred open, and he quickly scanned the foyer, poking his head out to canvass the corridors. As the lift began to announce the doors closing in its beeping language, Hellboy hopped out and walked down the corridor to the left. It took a while, but Hellboy finally arrived at the last office of the corridor.

It had a hastily-scribbled note stuck to the door, which in turn were one of those old-style glass-panel door, with the shutters down. The note said thus: "CID ANDREWS, HEAD OF BPRD IT DEPARTMENT".

Even the BPRD was added as an after thought, with a different coloured pen, squashed between 'of' and 'IT'.

Hellboy knocked on the door, waiting. He was on good terms with the citizens of the land of geeks and nerds, which was a very good position to be. Piss them off, and you'd be flooded with spam emails, malware ruining your laptop to the point that the machine would erupt into flames, and other various nasty sneaky stuff.

For all that Hellboy thought of them as the 'losers' of society, BPRD's own were a pretty cool bunch of guys. Movies, TV shows, computer games… anything you could think of or desired, all it took for them was a few buttons and it was served on a shiny silver disc. Hellboy had been invited to a couple of sci fi marathons and a computer game party called LAN or something, even though he hadn't quite got the whole concept of playing computer games all at once in a room.

Hellboy had the hunch that he was particularly well-treated because the IT guys saw Hellboy as one of them, an 'outcast'. He didn't particularly like that kind of idea, since they at least… had a choice, right?

The door opened, interrupting Hellboy's train of thought.

A squat man with dirty blonde hair that curled over his scalp, already receding slightly away from his thin eyebrows and glasses peered up at Hellboy, blinking.

"Oh, it's you!" The shortie glanced down the corridor surreptitiously, and closed his office door behind him. His face broke into a wide grin. "Hell, Hellboy, boy, it's been a long time!"

"Hey, Cid." Hellboy said, trying not to roll his eyes and failing miserably. Luckily, Cid wasn't the sharp sort outside virtual reality.

"So, Boy, what can I do for you? Hey, next Friday we're doing a marathon with Star Trek: Voyager 9 episodes 15 to 30…"  
"Yeah, okay, I was wondering if I could find the tracking for a package that's late," said Hellboy, already prepping up his opening bait. He had ordered the latest season of Family Guy only yesterday, and that was the perfect excuse for visiting the IT department and doing a bit of a sniffing around the classified computers and the big-mouthed geeks like Cid.

"Ah, I see! UPS, yes?" Cid shook his head, tut-tutting. "It's difficult to get packages here, right? I'll just find a spare monitor and get right down to it, eh?"

_Nuts_. Hellboy had been planning on getting into Cid's office, where all of his computers were set up right at the core of BPRD. Then it would have been a simple matter of creating a diversion that would have Cid busy for half an hour or something.

Casually as he could be, Hellboy nodded over Cid's shoulder. "Ain't your computers free? Are you downloadin' something?"

The short guy blushed suddenly, his pale skin splotchy as he struggled to maintain his cool and muttered, "Ah… well… it's a delicate defragmenting process, and well, it's also messy in there…"

"Ah, boy, boy, boy." Hellboy hoisted his heavy red granite hand on Cid's shoulder, causing him to stagger under the weight. "You and I, we're men, yes?"  
Cid blinked, opening his mouth again, but again Hellboy cut him off. "And we're friends, yes? Buddies. Buddies don't need to hide things from each other."

"Well…" the chief geek chuckled, the movement a little stifled by Hellboy's right hand, "yeah, we are buddies, yeah?"

_Gotcha_, Hellboy gloated. Now to reel him in. "So…? What you got downloading? American Booty? Girl Next Door?"

Now more pink than red, Cid glanced down the corridor again and gave Hellboy a wink. "Well… don't tell anyone, buddy? I mean, Manning already said no to the new CPU processors which would have improved the entire network, and not to mention more support for bigger LAN parties and high-quality – erm, visual control traffics. The IT's budget isn't looking very well lately -"

Just as Hellboy was about to shut Cid up and start steering him back into his own office, a door slammed open nearby, causing both conspirators (to each their own) to nearly jump out of their skins.

"Cid!" a taller and weedier man yelled, rushing out of a swinging door about 5 offices away, waving madly.

"Damn!" Hellboy muttered under his breath, and stood back resignedly to watch Cid swell to match his superior title of Head Of IT Department. The second geek paused, trying to catch his breath after a 10-metre sprint. Hellboy thought of them trying the mandatory FBI training course that all the agents went through, and grinned. Finally finding his voice, the not-so-fit arrival blurted out: "Cid, Cid, you gotta come see!"

"See what, Thomas Snyder? Calm down and explain what happened."

Fighting to get his wheezing under control, and apparently not noticing Hellboy standing next to Cid, Thomas replied. "See, ah, we got a shipment of data that needed to be processed under BPRD jurisdiction. Like, we gotta watch them and set up the markers, separate the streams and classify them, then put them on the hard and soft backups…"  
"Thomas, what did you get?"

"I told you before, you can call me Tom, Crystal Fig – I mean, Cid, I mean, some of the data was of that new girl that was brought in,"

Hellboy's hair went up on his neck, knowing that there was only one particular girl brought in.

Thomas continued, "and some of us thought, well, we'd all have a look and see, you know, what kind of girl she is. But then… the ending, of the interview!" The second geek finished with a dramatic gesture.

"Hmmm. I believe this might warrant a look." Cid murmured, raising a hand to rub his smooth, chubby chin.

Thomas gestured again, even more excitedly. "This might be why there's that rumour that we're getting a new girl agent!"

"Bull!" Hellboy snapped, and both guys jumped a mile high at Hellboy's voice, the second one even more so. Already irritated that the second guy didn't even notice Hellboy's presence for his excitement over… a kid, Hellboy drew another deep breath and adjusted his belt deliberately, which had a BPRD buckle on it, a gift from a military guy who turned out to be a real hand at the welders'.

"That rumour is just a rumour, with no basis for, uh, truth. To become a qualified BPRD agent, you gotta go to FBI and get picked out from there after a few years, if you're good enough, for either the CIA or BPRD. Or both. BPRD ain't going to pick up any… kid just because of something…" Hellboy peered at the second guy, who still had his mouth open. "You got on video?"

At that last word, the frozen geek seemed to come to life, and grinned. "Yeah, yeah! You gotta see this! See, she's totally BPRD material!"

Before Hellboy could angrily refute this stupid claim, Thomas began to dance away, signalling to Cid. "Come on, Cid! See for yourself!" Cid harrumped, pulled at his slightly-stained lab coat's lapels and followed. Hellboy swallowed up his irritation with a grimace and went after the two geeks.

The geeks went into the room that Thomas had burst out from earlier, and Hellboy had to raise his hand to stop the pressure-hinged door from banging into his face. Letting the door close behind him (his tail jerking out of the way), Hellboy surveyed the room he arrived in. He could already smell the stale popcorn and a musty odour of something he didn't want to know, and conventionally didn't compare it to the one that Liz had been complaining about lately in his own room.

It was a room set up with screens all around, perched on desks that were covered in paperwork, discs and mugs with fossilised dregs. The floor was sprawling with wires all kinds of colours, some taped down and some weren't, a potential minefield.

The citizens of the room were focusing on the biggest screen of the room, set just before a wall of machines with flashing LED lights – Hellboy could recognise a few, like VCR and DVD players. The screen was paused, showing a quad split-view of an interview room. Hellboy stepped closer, but not too close, squinting at the figure that sat hunched in the screen, all four copies. Before that stood and sat an impressive number of geeks, all clamouring and arguing over the keyboards and boards.

Cid didn't say anything; he instead let Thomas announce his arrival – "Guys, guys! Cid's here!" the herald wearing a 'Highlander' tshirt yelled out, and the crowd quietened immediately, only to flare up again towards Cid, even more excitedly. Cid held up his hands and waved his army into silence, and raised his double chin towards the screen.

"Alright, show me," he commanded.

Someone click-clacked on a keyboard immediately, and the screen went into a fast rewind until someone hissed "no, no, go to the end". The video changed gears, and fast forwarded – "hang on, that's it! Play!"

Hellboy stepped even more closer, and no one noticed, all eyes – and four eyes – firmly fixed on the screen.

A voice spoke through the speakers positioned somewhere in the mess of hardware.

"…and that's it. Sir."

A new voice came, from a second person that wasn't completely covered by the camera angles in the video – the interviewer. Hellboy vaguely recognised him as one of the new pen-pusher suits, some guy called Dan or David. "Well, thankyou very much, Miss Weaver. This information will be very helpful to the departments. You're holding up really well, and everything will be finished soon!"

_Good cop, huh?_ The figure on the screen inclined her head, a motion to show she had heard.

The interviewer continued, "now, I'll just step outside for a moment to speak with my supervisors, and then someone will come along and escort you back to your room, okay?"

The four copies nodded slightly, and made no other movements as the scrape of a chair was heard. Wearing the standard gym clothes still, Hellboy thought. As the footsteps faded and the soft close of the door was heard, the tension amongst the geeks went up as they started to murmur, "…keep on watching!" "…okay…" "…here it comes!", causing the crowd to press forward.

Half a minute passed, then the figure looked up directly into the camera.

All four of them.

Someone hit pause, and the kid's pale face was frozen, four faces staring directly out of the screen simultaneously. All of the audience's own pale faces turned towards Cid, awaiting his judgement. Cid was staring back at the faces, frowning.

"Alright… timer?"

Someone piped up over to the left of the screen. "Double checked. Checks out."

"Soft and hard copies?"

"Exactly identical." Another voice said, and the 'Timer' voiced his agreement.

"Network feed? Static?"

"It all checks out, Cid." 'Timer' said, "Even the analog video, the real old one, because we haven't… well, we haven't gotten around to that, is identical."

The chief of IT department nodded at that, half listening. "Have you analysed the rest of the video? Eldritch signature?"

A third person stood up, a hand up in the air like a schoolboy. "Sir, yes, I've already started that, sir. It'll take approximately 3 hours, sir."

"Alright," Cid said, coming to a decision, "Collect all hard and soft copies, and classify them, mark them and send them to Dr Manning and my computer, and when the analysis is complete, tell me immediately. Also -"

As Cid rattled off instructions to the geek minions, Hellboy shifted his gaze from the screen, where the kid – four of the kids – were still staring, as though they were watching him right through the screen. He thought of asking Cid again about the Family Guy dvd set, but one look at the scene and he suspected he'd be lucky to get a word in between all the jargon that was flying fast and furious overhead.

Weighting his options and finding none, Hellboy's gaze fell on a trolley to his right that was pushed in the middle of the room, one of the wheels tangled up in a wire. The trolley had the usual brown folders and digital stuff, including boxes with notes on them like "URGENT – need dubbing".

One opened box's post-it note with the words written in thick black caps caught his attention –

"CASE FILE 5558721/TO BE PROCESSED ASAP: L."

There were still a few CDs left in the box. Hellboy glanced over at the crowd, but they were still busy agreeing to or arguing Cid's instructions, tumbling over themselves to throw their opinions in the mix. No one had noticed him at all, and… Hellboy coughed as quietly as he could into his stone fist, and reached under with his left, leaning… leaning… and his fingers found the CD sleeves. Picking it up, Hellboy steadily watched the crowd, and tucked his discovery into his right armpit.

"I'll see you later," called out Hellboy, deliberately keeping his voice low below the others' high ones. He took a few steps back, grazing the many wires that littered the floor, until his questing tail found the wall – and the door.

No one noticed the big red guy's exit, thanks to all of his expertise in sneaking out of BPRD over the decades.


	5. Chapter 5

Hellboy tripped the wire in the big safe door, ensuring that there wouldn't be any surprise visitors that forgot to knock before they entered. That done, Hellboy shooed cats away as he made his way to the DVD player, temporarily switching out the one (the one that he had made years ago starring Liz being all annoyed that she was being taped) with the CD he had stolen from the IT department. Not that they would miss a CD amongst the millions of backups they did.

Hellboy had to lodge three cats out of the battered leather chair that bore its fair share of wear and scratches, before he could sit in. Lighting a cigar, he made sure the ashtray was perched somewhat precariously on his left armrest, before he pressed 'Play' on the clicker.

The screens flashed and a disclaimer came on. The usual BPRD stuff – a marker for the IT guys to put in basic information and classifying stuff, and a reminder to encrypt the whole thing and lock the original copies in the basement. Hellboy pressed rewind, impatient already. The screen flickered, and showed the interview room. Pressing play again, the tape slowed down and resumed its normal speed.

The kid was being shown the chair, and she sat in it with a slump, her face downcast like how she was walking in the park before Hellboy picked her up. Before all the stuff happened. David or Dan the good-cop interviewer leant further into one of the camera angles, a quick look sideways at the one-way mirror. What a newbie.

He cleared his throat, and spoke to the kid.

"Alrighty then, how are you today Miss Weaver?"

"okay," came the quiet reply.

"Could you please speak up a bit, so the recorder can get everything?"

"Okay," she said again, sitting up a bit straighter and looking up. Her brown hair fell away a bit, resting at her shoulders. Hellboy squinted at the medium-sized television, half wishing that he had stolen one of those fancy big ones from one of the departments.

He still couldn't place where he had seen the kid's features, her long nose and chin. That didn't sit well with Hellboy, with Abe's cryptic hints that the girl had aligned her 'fate' with Hellboy's own, despite having no "apparent" ties at all. That didn't make sense at all.

Pulling away from his train of muddling thoughts, Hellboy focused on the voices, as the interviewer wound off.

"… a record of Elizabeth Weaver's origins, in her own words, beginning from her birthdate. Would you please, Miss Weaver, as instructed prior to the recording?"

An intake of breath, her shoulders drawing back, before the kid began.

"Uh… My name is Elizabeth Weaver, and I was born on the third of March in nineteen eight five, to parents Richard Weaver and Cordelina Weaver, maiden name Bishop, in Sydney, Australia. I have – had two siblings, an…"

About forty minutes later, the now-alone kid turned her face towards the four camera angles in perfect synchrocity. The screen jerked, and was replaced with a marker that had the instructions for the editor to insert more details and whatnot.

Hellboy slumped back into his chair, forgetting that he had been on the edge of the chair quite literally for the recording. His first cigar had been ground into the ashtray, and a second one was puffing down to the halfway mark between his fingers.

So. The kid really was just a kid, not even a third of Hellboy's own age. But Australia? That island he'd heard about, on the other side of the world – heck, Crocodile Dundee was in his top fifty films. How the heck did the kid get all the way to America, if she was all homeless? _Hang on_… she didn't have an accent. Even Sjvena, that guy who went on the same mission Hellboy went last time, was raised by Croatian parents, giving him a strange slant to his speech. The kid might have sounded a bit English, but she sounded like a bad actress with that flat voice.

So. That meant the girl had to be lying. Just to be sure, he restarted the DVD player. He checked his watch as he walked over to his bed. It was quarter to 12, which meant he had like an hour before the food trolley arrived bang on its schedule. Hellboy was glad that John aka boyscout was off on some paperwork mission in Washington DC, since he had the annoying tendency to arrive early and be all numb mouthed around Liz if she was there. Hellboy really needed to get on moving with "Project: North Pole", but he had been distracted of lately. Mentally reminding himself to write a note to remind him of the project, Hellboy hoisted up his laptop from the bedside table, wincing as an ashtray slid off it to spew ashes and butts all over the floor. Another mental note to remind himself to write a reminder note to clean that one up before Liz came home.

Hellboy settled back in his armchair, squeezing his right into a fist when he saw that he did not need to get up again for the charger plug. With the wi-fi up and running, Hellboy restarted the DVD. He had yahoo search all up and primed, just as the kid began to re tell her dodgy biography.

A while later, his laptop was rapidly filling out with too many browser windows, and the programs were starting to become sluggish. He wasn't even halfway through the video, with all the pausing to trawl the internets for this or that the kid had mentioned.

Hellboy was feeling good; he felt… sure. Sure, a lot of the stuff the kid had said turned out to be true, but for one damning detail; herself. There was Mr and Mrs Weaver and Junior Weavers, but no mention of any Liz Weaver or any resemblance whatsoever. Nor any references at the schools and colleges, anything that she had put up in her so-called biography. She was pretty good, this kid, to go into so much detail… like a spy. Except, a good spy wouldn't screw things up by actually having all of that information and not making up an actual identity in that lot or something. Something like that. Like making burritos with the lot and forgetting the mince.

Now all Hellboy had to do was to lie back, relax and wait for Liz to come back, and all of this would be over in a week or two, rumours or no rumours. His thoughts flickered over that odd ending; that had to be some kind of bug, some technobabble that the IT guys were sure to iron out – actually, perhaps he would go upstairs and make sure the big heads saw that all what the kid said didn't fit. Then she'd be shipped back out… wherever she came from.

First things first – a reward for all of this sleuthing work. Hellboy got out of the armchair, setting the laptop back on his bed on his way towards the fridge. Just as he was pulling out a can of Bud – a Lite one for lunch – the door bell went off.

Ah, perfect timing for the food trolley to arrive. Hellboy scratched a spot under his tshirt as he waded through the sea of cats and mess towards the door. The door bell rang again, causing Hellboy to stumble while stepping over an overflowing laundry basket, snubbing his toe on a nearby table that was equally overflowing with comic books. "Hey, open the door!"

Hellboy remembered the door was soundproofed and he had tripped the wire for the door, so trolley veteran or newbie, neither could get through. Wincing as he hopped the last few paces, Hellboy got to the door as the doorbell rang for the third time.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, hold on." Hellboy muttered as he fumbled along the narrow opening of the safe door for the dangling wires. He pressed the button the intercom with his free hand as his left hand found the wires. Bringing the wires out, he spoke into the intercom. "Gotta be a minute…"

"… Hellboy?"

"Ye…?" Hellboy began, half distractedly, when his body tensed up, his hand dropping all the wires. His brain, puzzled by the reaction of the body, decided to have a quick rewind.

Then it recognised the voice, and all systems went haywire.

Hellboy reeled, trying to raise a finger to press a button in the intercom, any button, that would rewind the whole damn thing. But which damn button! As he was madly dithering, the intercom crackled into life again.

"Oh, oh, that's great you're home. Um… how are you?"

Shit, shit, SHIT!

"Well, um, I need to talk to you, to talk about – "

What she was going to say next was jarred into a screech of metal and loud blare of static, as Hellboy buried his stone fist into the intercom.

Hellboy stood there, staring in half disbelief at the bulimic mess of 21st-century machinery that couldn't withstand about 50 kilograms of untraceable stone. Then he pressed himself up near the door, his ear on the cold surface.

He couldn't hear anything, but he sort of could faintly 'sense' someone knocking, then silence, and receding footsteps. Hellboy returned his gaze to the damage. With a grimace and a couple of jigs, his fist finally came free. Screws, bits of machine stuff and sparks fell to the floor.

What was going on – what to do now? The video screens were still frozen with the kid's faces. The kid had come down and pressed the damn bell! What did she want? Why was that kid walkin' around BPRD, especially on this level? Was there anyone with her? She said something about talking about something… Hellboy hastily pushed away that thought, trying to think of other things.

"Shit." Hellboy murmured aloud, picking out a piece of wire that was grating itself between his stone fingers. He had to cool down. Maybe have another bud or two. Everything was cool, and the plan would go ahead. The higher-ups would look at the report, the video and red-tape the kid. Kick her out with a tag, and that would be it.

_Liz_. Hellboy kicked the mess of what was left of the intercom across the floor, causing two cats to run over in predator excitement. With Liz firmly in his mind, Hellboy set off to find the telephone and call her up, to hear her voice and chase away his thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

The second following day, Hellboy was holed up in the bathroom – not hiding, mind you – just having a bit of privacy while the technician was fixing up the intercom. The intercom was shot, as well as the electrical override lock, which meant that Hellboy missed the late food trolley, (it had arrived and left, the pusher thinking Hellboy was out) but he finally surrendered after inspecting the fridge for the fourth time around 5pm, ringing up for someone to come and fix up the door. And to bring an extra-large dinner.

So there was a bit of a queue, (some juvvy wendigo had gone and smashed several advanced cells before good ol' iron bars did the trick) but Hellboy surrendered the right bribes, and the job was set for the next day. Even so, Hellboy made sure to wedge a couch between the door hinge and the wall as an insurance against any more… surprise visitors.

Thus, there Hellboy was, having a bit of a private moment with all of the cats milling about in the bathroom (the technician had asked nicely) and the door was locked as well in case. His laptop was balanced on top of a sink, playing "Mr Baseball" with Tom Selleck. That guy was having Hellboy wonder about whether a moustache would look okay on him, or whether it would be overkill with the sideburns. So absorbed in the all-American man (father would have actually disapproved of this sort of film selection Hellboy was watching these days), Hellboy didn't register the knock on the foggy green glass panel of the bathroom door.

_Knock, knock, KNOCK!_

The knocker moved their hand to the wood panel and knocked harder. Hellboy jumped, causing a catalyst of startled cats setting off the nervous ones. As a caphoncy of mewing went up, Hellboy fumbled with his bud and bowl of pretzels, trying to get up and reach the laptop to silence it. Selleck's voice boomed as the knock went up again, more impatient. Tripping over 'Sintara' the fat cat that had a vendetta against everybody, Hellboy split half of his snack bowl, and then the rest, to get his hand free to hit 'pause' on the laptop.

Silence. Well, silence but for the hissing and mewing of agitated cats, having realised how small their bathroom prison was. There was a definitive shape behind the foggy glass mirror, a smaller one that meant that it could be a woman – or a kid.

Hellboy tried to breath as quiet as he could, trying to pretend that the chorus of mewing didn't exist, hoping like mad that whoever it was – _whoever_ – would get the idea that Hellboy wasn't home.

The seconds scretched, and then a voice came –

"Hellboy! Are you in there?" it called, the door knob jiggling under lock. Hellboy felt familiarity floor his senses, and tossing the bud into the second sink – it clinked with the other discarded buds – and waded over to the door.

Unlocking it, he practically threw himself through an opening just big enough for him to escape while containing the cats, hopping to a stop before a pair of startled brown eyes.

_Liz_.

Hellboy swept Liz up into a hug, deliberately ignoring her muffled protests. He inhaled in a gulp of her scent, a flowery perfume that just about covered a strange burning smell. He loosened up on his bear hug slightly, and before Liz could explode into admonishments, Hellboy kissed her. Her mouth hummed angrily at first before giving in to the kiss.

Hellboy and Liz stood for a moment, enjoying the kiss nestled in their encircling arms. Liz shifted under Hellboy's arms, a signal to come up for air. Hellboy reluctantly loosened his hold further, but still not prepared to let her go just yet.

Liz drew in a deep breath, fixing Hellboy's eyes with her chocolate-coloured eyes. "What's up?" she asked, glancing at the bathroom door that slightly muffled the mewing cats. "Why were you hiding up in the bathroom?"

"Uh, I…" Hellboy seized upon an excuse. "I was keeping the cats company. While they fixed the door."

"Yeah, about that…" Liz tried to detangle herself from Hellboy's grip, and failing that, gestured in the direction of the door. "What happened?"

"I don't know, and…" Hellboy bent back to Liz's mouth, "… I don't care."

Now Liz did detangle herself; twisting out of Hellboy's grip, but still keeping a hand in his left, she looked at Hellboy questioningly. "Are you okay? I missed you, but just look at this mess…" she waved her free hand towards the mini rubbish dump. Liz sighed, looking at the landscape with disbelief in her eyes. "I've only been away for two weeks, Red. What happened?"

"Two and a half." Hellboy tried to tug Liz back into his hold, "missed ya, babe." Liz shrugged off his hint, and tugged in return instead. "Well, I missed you and a _clean_ home!" Pulling harder, Liz half-smiled. "Come on, Red. Let's clean up before the technician finishes!"

"The tech - ?" Hellboy looked at the gate, just remembering the blue-outfitted technician that was still fixing the door. The clean-shaven guy tried to hide a grin, but cast a wink towards Hellboy. "I'll have it fixed up in a jiffy!"

Hellboy couldn't help but to grin, and allowed Liz to pull him towards the towering trash piles.

A few hours later, the mess was noticeably shuffled away – and the freed cats were exploring the room as though it was a brand new world of alien objects. The technician had long gone, and the door was fixed up with a nice new lock with updated programs, and Hellboy had been able to stave off a few outbursts from Liz, especially when she stepped in the puddle that a split beer and ashtray had melded together.

Hellboy was lying in bed, feeling Liz's heartbeat echo across his skin, as her body draped across Hellboy's chest. Hellboy was sorely needing a cigar, but the mood was too good to spoil right now, and he could live without his 'foul sticks' for a few more hours. Liz was still awake, but not for long – her breathing was deepening, the pause between each intake stretching out little by little. Hellboy tried to shift his body as gently as possible, taking a little pressure off a stiff knot in his back.

Liz shifted herself, and raised her head to Hellboy's face. Brushing back her long waylaid hair, she fought the drowsiness in her voice: "Hey, Red – I forgot to tell you, but I met the possible new agent candidate when I arrived back."

"Really?" Hellboy stroked her shoulder lazily, half trying to lull Liz back into sleep, already thinking of the cigar case in the bathroom. "Who's he?"

"She, not he." Liz frowned at Hellboy. "You don't know?"

"Oh, yeah, the female agent… so the gossip was real, huh." Hellboy looked at Liz, who wore a sceptical look on her face. "What?"

"How long have you been cooped up in this room, Hellboy?" Liz said, the drowsiness vanishing from her voice.

"What?" Hellboy fought a bug of dread that was trying to crawl through his guts.

"Elizabeth – no, Weaver, that girl you brought in two weeks ago – she's going to be put in the BPRD agent training program next week."

Hellboy's body was up and nearly out of the bed before he realised, and he hurriedly told his body to make it look like he was just going to the bathroom. Keeping his voice smooth, he threw back over his shoulder, "nah, that can't be. The kid that I picked… collected up, she's a nutjob. No way she's going in the program."

"Dr Manning introduced me to her. He said that she passed all the tests, and you know how…" Liz paused, clearing her throat. "…how hard the tests were made, for BPRD."

_Bruttelholm's tests. Father's tests._ Hellboy inhaled, his feet stopping halfway to the bathroom. That couldn't be – they were difficult tests, that filtered like a million FBI agents into a meagre few handfuls that were good enough for BPRD. Either Liz was wrong, that she had misheard, or the kid had… somehow cheated.

Liz went on, "and you know that since the Wendigo disaster, four agents have been put out of commission on top of the others. BPRD needs more agents, because… no one has been actively looking for candidates. Since… the Professor's death."

Professeor Brutthelom, aka Broom, known as the guardian to the "alien" being that was Hellboy, long the founder and chief of BPRD in all but name – and murdered by Nazis. It was him who kept the BPRD afloat, always seeking new candidates from all branches of the government, a steady supply of fresh 'men in black' for a highly dangerous job with a high morality rate. Since his death, no one had picked up the slack, and the injury list kept on rolling down, just as bad as the recruitment crisis in the Vietnam War times.

But this? This bloody kid? A candidate? Father would never stand for it; he was sure of it. The tests that Father had made up for future replacements had to be near damn perfect, except if the kid had gone through them – the kid had to have cheated somehow. Hellboy's mind somehow conveniently forgot about John, aka 'boy scout', the last candidate handpicked by Brutthelom.

"Red?"

"What?" Hellboy turned, blinking at a frowning Liz, who was already tugging on an oversize tshirt.

"I've been calling you for ages! What's wrong?" Her frown deepened. "Did something happen between you and Weaver when you met her?"

"NO!"

Liz started at Hellboy's shout, but her frown faded to be replaced by a narrowing of her lovely eyes. "What happened?"

"Wh-nothing! Nothing happened!" Hellboy turned back, and tried to walk as slowly as possible to the bathroom. He hadn't gotten very far when he heard Liz speak.

"Hellboy. Turn around and park yourself here, RIGHT. NOW."

Now that was a command that he couldn't disobey – he didn't even want to think of the repercussions; last time, he had several vinyls destroyed – not that they were his favourites, but still.

Hellboy sighed, rotated around, and fixed his eyes on a grey tabby milling by Liz's feet.

"Hellboy, I asked you something. Did something happen?"

"No! Nothing happened… I just…" Hellboy fumbled, "…I just got a bad hunch about her."

"A hunch?"

"Yeah! You know my hunches – I'm a BPRD agent, detective, right? They have hunches – and my hunch is telling me that kid is bad news."

"How?"

Hellboy looked up at Liz's face; it was a mix of confusion and suspicision. He decided to push a bit more.

"You know that kid, you've read her file? She came up to this place – a top secret place – and called for me by my name! I don't know anything about her, I've never met her! Abe pushed me to meet her. I didn't want to, but I had to, cause I'm BPRD, right?"

"So I went to the park. I was only gonna just pick her up, but when I saw that kid – I just knew. Bad news. What was I supposed to do? Abe was waitin' for me to bring the kid back, so I did. Kid wigs out in front of agents. I don't need that kind of mess. So I'm stayin' far away, but that kid won't let up."

"And you have no idea why?"

"_NO_. Nope." Hellboy said quickly.

Liz frowned again, but the lines on her forehead were lighter – "Have you considered talking to her… like a…" she cast around, "a relationship counsellor, a meditation expert... I think BPRD has one of those…"

Hellboy turned away, biting his tongue. _A relationship… counsellor? Fuck. No._

"…the tests, which means you and her will eventually be on the same missions."

"What?"

"She'll be on the field roster, same as us."

Manning was at his desk, leaning back in a fancy chair of endangered wood and leather. He was also puffing away on some cigar, looking through newspapers . He barely looked up when Hellboy shouldered the door open, and then took a second glance and blinked.

"Hellboy? What are you doing here?"

Hellboy snorted. "What? This is my place!"

Manning rustled his newspapers, peering at an article. "Last I heard, BPRD was under FBI. As with all properties associated with BPRD."

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why are you here? I thought you were happy in the basement doing nothing these days and wasting tax dollars."

"Hey! Ain't my fault there's been no missions I can go on!"

"Hopefully there won't be." Manning tossed the newspaper across his desk, disturbing neat stacks of paperwork. "Bad luck for BPRD and good luck for you, boy, there's a few ones coming up. Training exercises and all of that."

"Training?" Hellboy yelled. "I don't need no training! I'm a -"

"Boy, it's not for you."

"Huh? Then who -" and then Hellboy remembered the whole point of going up the levels to get to Manning's office, raising his right fist to his forehead, eliciting a shrieking scarp that made Manning grimace.

"That's right! I came here about that kid!"

"Ah, Miss Weaver?" Manning leant back, the chair creaking as he smirked. "She's a nice girl - listens to her superiors, I'll tell you, and -"

"Like hell!" Hellboy banged the desk. "Are you crazy, letting that crazy kid join up?"

"Why shouldn't she? She passed all the tests. She's a certified agent now. In training, that is."

"She's a spy!"

There was a heady pause, in which Manning leant forward, pulled his glasses off, folded up the delicate frames and laid them on the desk. "Where's the information, then?"

Hellboy flung up his arms. "She... The kid's past! It doesn't match - it's all bull!"

Manning stared at Hellboy, and spoke. "How'd you come by that information?"

"That - that's not the point!"

Manning hefted his weight and stood up. "Boy, I gave you time and due because of who your father was. Trevor was a good man, and he did the best he could in given situations..."

Hellboy clenched his fists. He hated Mannings, that unuctonous bastard that slimed his way up the FBI ladders. His father had tried to tell him that Mannings was a good man at the core, a loyal man, but Hellboy couldn't see it or even hold faith. Still. A man had to see reason. That's what father always said too.

"...but enough is enough, boy. It's time to give your dues to your country. We haven't got enough recruits lately, what with that fiasco in Russia. Miss Weaver, is, well, a woman, but I have heard of promising agents in FBI who are women too - perhaps a soft touch is what BPRD needs now."

"Liz's a woman -"

"- Well, not exactly, in the per se sense that she is a normal woman, and -"

"Are you goddamn saying' something, you -"

"I will not be threatened in my own office -"

"Your fuckin' office? You -"

"E-excuse me?"

Both turned their attention to the door, where John Meyer stood.

"Uh... hi, guys." The 'boy scout' laughed awkwardly, trying to look anywhere but the two scowling men. "I thought I'd come here first, to let you know... Mr Manning, that we're back. Weaver and I, that is."

Manning craned his neck, narrowing his eyes, "Well, where's she? I'd like to discuss something with her while..." he locked scowls with Hellboy. "Hellboy is here. About the upcoming training missions."

"She went down to drop something off at IT first -"

"Like hell."

Manning went red. "Excuse me?" he spluttered, but Hellboy was already foisting his lapels and striding towards the door. Passing a John Meyers who was squeezing himself as much against the door frame, Hellboy paused to turn and point a finger at Manning, who was opening his mouth once more again to spew litanies.

"I ain't training no kid. Or spy."

Hellboy made again to walk off, but turned around and added, "You'll see I was right."


	7. Chapter 7

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Mannings summoned Hellboy one or two times, but Hellboy ignored those summons, resulting in a pink-blotched Mannings waiting outside his door. Mannings tried different methods of 'ordering' Hellboy to go on some training exercises, but he failed every single time.

It wasn't that Hellboy didn't want to go on some of those exercises; hell, he felt the pain of missing out on some of them. Some of the agents were real good guys, and they'd share one or two buds when the job was finished. And Hellboy did itch for some action. Shoot some chucupbras, or flush out some ectoplasam – he didn't care about what spooky shit went bump in the night, as long as he could bump it over with his handy fist, if his gun didn't work.

Just one little mission, even if it was for an old lady's ghost cat outta a tree – except Weaver was practically on every mission now. And apparently doing very well; even Abe forgot the unspoken taboo subject and talked about Weaver's 'skills' for 15 minutes until Hellboy turned the radio up high. Heck, Hellboy couldn't hold a conversation with anyone lately without them interjecting with a comment about Weaver, thinking Hellboy would be interested. Fucking hell. Hellboy wasn't interested in some weird kid, not even if when she took down a half-ton bogeyman (Hellboy took down a whole ton, and even that was easy – just took a bit longer) or that she was good at telling jokes over cider (which was weak ass, cider was just apple juice and beer was the best).

Hellboy did take note of some of the gossip; that Weaver wasn't quite normal – that some odd occurrences were cropping up inside and outside the missions. Hellboy allowed himself to feel a bit of a hope; he was going to be proven right – and the kid would be kicked off the roster. Then he would be able to chill and enjoy life shooting monsters and buds and watching old films with Liz. But nothing happened, even on that particular day when Hellboy was watching Highlander with the IT gang. One of them, Cid's third-right-handed man and known for his collection of Spanish comics including questionable ones, spoke up during a lull in the movie.

"Hey, hey, you know that Weaver? I just heard something today, something totally awesome! Hey, so I was at big head's office today to resubmit the revision of the budget again, and then Weaver came in…"

The geek went on to describe how he was 'press ganged' into setting up a recorder and being a witness – you wouldn't have known how it inconvenienced him, for the excitement in his voice – to Weaver's formal confirmation that she possessed skills of the supernatural sort.

The popcorn on Hellboy's lap went flying, and several of the geeks loudly exclaimed their dismay at the waste, but Hellboy was already making a fast exit. Then he returned back a few seconds later, trying to be best nonchalant as he could, to ask where that particular recording would be.

Later, Hellboy made sure Liz was sleeping deeply, and gently withdrew from the bed. Tip toeing over to a decent mess of technology in a nearby armchair, Hellboy tried to be quiet as he searched for a particular item; a walkman. He found it, along with a pair of earphones, all looking good apart from a few cat-teeth nibbles on the strings.

In the bathroom, with the door slightly open (if Hellboy locked the door, then the cats would demand entry into an area immediately to find out why the door was closed in very loud protestations) Hellboy sat on a chair next to the sink counter he'd prepared before, with a note and pen. He was going to prove it this time, that was for sure. Drawing out the cassette from the small gap between the mirror and the green tiles, Hellboy dusted the lint off it and inserted it into the walkman. With the wired buds in his ears, he carefully switched it on, testing the volume until he found the right measure. A bossy black and white tom reached up on his knee and tried to swipe at the walkman, but Hellboy pushed the cat away and focused on the voice.

"…working? Why do you even give me your budget when you don't know what you're doing?"

That was Manning, berating the geek as per usual. Too bad Manning didn't use personal computers or other devices, otherwise he'd have a lot of trouble asking the IT geeks for help.

"_Yes sir, no sir, it's working, sir, can I go now?"_

"_No. You are here as a formal witness. State your name now!"_

"_Sir, sir, I'm, ah, Brett Saunders, age 26…"_

"_Your position!"_

"_IT technician, sir! Under BPRD's IT department, going on for -"_

An exasperated growl came, and then a third voice came on.

"_It's alright, this is just a little bit of formality, yeah?"_

Hellboy hit pause on the walkman, digesting the sound. That was the kid's voice. It sounded… different. Hellboy looked down at the walkman, unsure whether he wanted to proceed. Someone didn't change so fast in half a year. Yeah. Hellboy was there, to protect his father's BPRD, the… principle about it, to protect the world from supernatural forces. And influences. Taking another deep breath and shooing away the pesky tom, Hellboy hit play.

"…_sorry about this, Brett. We'll do this quickly, now. Okay, I'll start first."_

"_My name is Elizabeth Weaver, a field agent on probation since February of 1995, BPRD code 9855513. In the presence of Acting Head of BPRD, Manning and witness IT technician Saunders, I formally declare the confirmation of my supernatural skills, which I use in the field." _

"_I henceforth make a verbal contract that I shall not misuse my powers, not to harm civilians and authorities, to use my skills under the BPRD agency to ensure the safety and wellbeing of mankind and those vulnerable and in need of assistance." _

"_Anything else, Manning?"_

A loud sniff sounded on the tape._"No, that sounded good. Just a small formality. There'll be a properly written one later on."_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Well! Now, I'm going to be on the television again in a few weeks, and I wanted to… Sandman, what are you doing?"_

"_Sir? Saunders, sir?"_

"_Go and process that tape now!"_

The tape went silent, and Hellboy scowled down at the walkman. Fat a lot of a freaking good information that was. Nothing about what the kid's weirdness could be – just another nail in the coffin for the future of BPRD, with the kid becoming a formal agent even with her weirdness!

There had to be some other way, something else, but Hellboy was feeling fuzzy and grumpy and thirsting for a bud before bed. He chuckled at the pun in his head, gave the walkman another scowl, and threw it into the wastebasket by the toilet.

It was only two days later when Abe came to his room, which was a rare affair given that Abe found it uncomfortable with the collective attention that Hellboy's cats gave, as well as the amount of cat hair that collected on his clammy shins. Abe informed Hellboy that Weaver was coming down to the library in a few moments to look at some books by a special request.

Hellboy wasn't happy, but he was too aware of Abe silently measuring him up – Hellboy knew his best bud would never betray him or break his promise not to talk of Weaver or to use his 'sight' to see what had happened. Not that anything had happened.

Liz was out, doing some shopping and getting some fresh air, and wouldn't be back until the evening – even with her, Hellboy wasn't sure if he was still in her good books. After all, Liz didn't really do 'shopping', but things were still okay apart from when Smokey decided to sharpen his claws on her new briefcase she'd brought.

So there Hellboy was, locked up in his vault-room, trying not to stare at the clock – it seemed too slow anyway. Maybe he should toss it and get a proper digital one, like the ones they installed in some of the revamped science rooms. Hellboy wondered if there were any extras he could 'borrow' – matter not, he just had to stay there and sit till… that kid did her business in the library.

The library. The one room in BPRD that his father devoted himself entirely to, filling the entire place with books he had selected personally. And Abe was letting… that kid come into that special place, that sacred room, to rifle through the secrets that Trevor Bruttenholm had preserved.

Except he was stuck. A secret himself, stuck in the bloody vault, deep under the surface – and powerless. Hellboy switched on the dvd player, and tried to focus his mind on 'Mighty Ducks' to distract his rising anger.

Hellboy could see it; the kid burrowing her way deeper into BPRD - Manning was already gone; he was corrupted anyway. Abe - with each page turn, she was manoeuvring closer, especially since bluey himself said that he couldn't read her properly. Like there was some kind of a weird buzzing fog. Hellboy was sure that was deliberate, even if Abe didn't think so.


	8. Chapter 8

Hellboy awoke to shaking; Liz's face peered into his own, and she sighed as Hellboy turned to burrow deeper into the bed. "HB, didn't you hear? And it's nearly 9."

"Nine? Babe, you know I don't get out till 12."

"Huh?" Liz pulled at the blankets, trying to peel them off Hellboy's face. "Didn't you get the - oh HB, your door machine's plug is out again, isn't it?" With an annoyed noise, Liz stalked over to the fuse box where a second burst of increased annoyance confirmed her question. "HB, get up now! We have only five minutes to get to the meeting room! Manning called an emergency meeting for the most classified agents."

Hellboy blinked, and sat up. "I thought I was scrubbed from basic missions?"

Liz folded her arms, ignoring a young cat pressing itself on her leg for prompt attention. "You scrubbed yourself, mister. There's been an accident with a BPRD team, and someone put out the same call... That alarm that should have been ringing. The same one that Professor used."

Hellboy tore off the blankets, and hopped over two cats to pick up a pair of pants he had discarded on the floor two or three nights before. Shaking the hair off the pants, Hellboy glanced about for something else to yank on. Liz stepped into his view with a reasonably clean black tee and his boots.

"Thanks, babe. You seen any socks?"

"I wouldn't know - I keep my own clothes in one place, mister."

Hellboy winced, and tried to change tacks again. "So d'you know what's happening? Which team's in trouble?"

Suddenly, an intrusive thought entered his mind: what if it was the team that had that kid on it?

Liz shrugged. "I only know that about five teams were out. Six are still here; but I've been hearing that BPRD can't afford any more teams."

"What about new agents?"

Liz's reply was a shake of her head as Hellboy freed his back knot from the tee and picked up one of the boots.

"This place is going shitcans thanks to Manning."

"I think Manning is doing his best, because he is only the acting -"

"Exactly. We need someone who can make this place work."

Liz sighed again, a sad sound. "Red... I don't think there will ever be anyone... Like Professor ever again. He... was a really... He did so much for us all. Me."

Hellboy yanked at the last of his shoelaces a tad savagely. "It sure as hell ain't Manning, then."

Or that kid.

Hellboy sidled into the meeting room, casting about suspicious gazes but the room seemed to be full of normal fellow agents and empty of that kid. Manning was late as well, which meant a relief from the usual moaning about Hellboy's track record of keeping time.

He took up the seat next to Abe, whose lifting of the cheekbones meant a smile of greeting towards him and Liz, who opted to stand behind Hellboy. There were several other agents, but not many - not counting those currently in the field or on leave, it was a pitiful number compared to the heydays. Everybody chattered in low voices about hypothesises to what the meeting could be about down to the monster of the day.

Manning stepped through the door, and the voices instantly fell down as the acting director gave a nod of acknowledgement to the general room. Snapping a pad of papers and files in his hand, Manning cleared his throat.

"Well, I'll just start... At 1430 hours, an emergency call was activated by one of the BPRD teams. It was a research mission located in Peru over some ruins, and the BPRD was overseeing an archeological discovery with a group from..." Manning paused, peering at his notes. "...The university of Chicago. The BPRD team was attached after..."

A noise came from outside the meeting door, and the door eased open to allow a latecomer, shoulders hunched over a compact case that seemed to have some weight despite the size.

The latecomer flashed an uncertain apologetic smile at Manning, and tried to shuffle over and put the case on the table unobtrusively as possible, despite the echoing clang.

Hellboy's stomach slid a few moments before he fully recognised the slightly awkward posture of this tall, broad-shouldered female agent with the long nose, scruffy brown bob and nail biting habit.

Hellboy became instantly aware that Liz was standing behind him, and he couldn't exactly make a smooth escape. The kid leant forwards, whispering a conversation with Manning and gesturing to the case. Manning paused, and gave his reply by handing over the sheaf in his hand, which the kid fumbled over with a look on her face that clearly said "Me?"

The kid cleared her throat as Manning stepped back, arms folded. Hellboy looked at his fingers, not wanting to catch her gaze as she looked around her audience of sorts.

"Um...," her voice began, "Um. Okay. Well..."

Picking up a bit of an authority, she began afresh.

"Um, yeah... At 2... 1430 hours, we received an emergency call from one of our teams. The details has not been verified, but there was a team lead by Agent Robertson who was working in conjunction with, um, the university of... Chicago. For an archeological dig in Peru."

Jesus. And they went and made this kid an agent? Low numbers or not, this was not right.

The kid continued on nevertheless, "...split into two, with the secondary team led by Agent Shalymana. Agent Shalymana and her team are still missing, along with the main archeological team. The site was an unidentified pyramid with a network of lower levels. Agent Shalymana and two other agents, Berond and Wuu accompanied the university team which had seven people within the pyramid."

"However, they passed out of reception and it was several hours later when Agent Shalymana's emergency beacon was activated and then five minutes later, stopped emitting the signal... Then it was reported... No, Agent Robertson's team reported a paranormal event that immediately took place - mass hysteria. The members that were outside the pyramid became violently ill. Those that were the closest to the pyramid fainted - lost consciousness - and the agents were the only ones capable of retrieving the rest of the archaeological team and removing them from the site, probably due to previous exposure of paranormal events."

She rustled through the papers, squinting. "Also, at the customs branch of... Of... O'Hare airport, reported a paranormal event at the same time, 1430 hours, with employees in a radius losing consciousness or becoming ill. A BPRD agent and psychic was dispatched, and located the source of the paranormal activity. The psychic was severely injured upon contact and is recovering in the BPRD hospital wing at the moment. The source was a piece from a small collection that was catalogued and flown from the Peru site for advance analysis at the Chicago university."

"Pyramid X, the site of the original paranormal event, is possibly a... ancient site of malevolent nature that affects people by psychic," she paused, reading a line, "poison."

Silence fell on the room, and the hesitant speech-maker shifted her position before seemingly realising that she should elaborate further.

"Ah! The missing agents and citizens has been out of contact for... 4 hours. A team needs to be assembled immediately to visit the site to analyse the situation, locate the missing persons and if possible, rescue them."

Someone called out."I volunteer!"

Manning shot a glare in the direction of the self-nominator, but the kid shook her head. "I had a look at the piece and, well, the team will depend on who can resist the effects of..." She fumbled at something tucked in the hem of her pants, drawing out a pair of heavy leather gloves. Putting them on, the kid's pale face furrowed as she flicked the locks open on the case, releasing a little hiss of escaping air.

As she opened the metal case, Hellboy noticed the room's atmosphere change as the inhabitants reacted. Three of them staggered and bent their knees. The eager agent who had put himself forwards earlier, whose name was either Boyd or Nollen, promptly lost his lunch right down his crisp white shirt. Some of the agents - not too many - simply grimaced as though they had smelt something unsavoury. Liz groaned lightly from behind Hellboy - he turned around to see Liz white lipped and Abe to his right, clutching his gills.

"I think that's quite enough," said the kid to no one in particular. Hellboy swung around just in time to see that the kid was holding something in her hands, a bowl that seemed to be carved obsidian but with a strange matte shimmer to it. Holding it in gloves as far away from her body as though it was a scrap of road kill, the kid screwed her nose as she carefully lowered the object back into the case, promptly shutting the cover shut and flicking the locks.

Liz gasped, expelling air noisily, and Hellboy felt her hand touch his right shoulder. Abe released his gills and sighed, as the other agents in the room shuddered off the dark air that had vanished as quickly as the kid was peeling her gloves off.

Sparing a backward glance at sallow-faced Manning, who was irritably waving away a flustered agent, the kid began again with a bit more of an authoritative tone in her voice.

"On a scale to 10... With ten being really violently sick and fainting, and zero for feeling okay, hands up if you feel below... Six."

A few agents' hands went up, not including Abe's.

The kid's finger flickered as she scanned the room, mentally counting the numbers. Hellboy pointedly kept his eyes on a memo attached to the wall, between the kid and Manning, even though he couldn't make out the small print. He'd felt nothing - which was kind of normal since for most part, his hunches had been next to useless on the field when it came to real bad shit, but then again, the real bad shit probably never saw him coming either. Even so, he wasn't about to answer the... spy's question nor nominate himself for the mission if she was going to be in charge. Bad shit would definitely go down, and Hellboy was going to make up a hunch and damn stick to it.

So absorbed in trying to gauge his hunch and trying to formulate an excuse to jump the meeting early, that he missed the next round of questions, as more hands went up and some down. The kid was now scribbling something down on a notepad, to which she showed to Manning. After a whispered conversation, Manning nodded and thrust his chubby chin forwards.

"Right! I am going to assign Agent Weaver the team leader, in light of her recent leadership capabilities and abilities - any further questions about the mission should be given to Agent Weaver. Now I have to leave, as I am late for a discussion board with the European Union over the future of BPRD!" Manning finished with an attempt at covering up a satisfied look, and with one final nod to the agent in question, walked out of the room.

The new team leader looked momentarily frozen, as though a yeti had hugged her, but shook herself again and consulted her notes. The audience shifted a little as she crinkled the small notepad, re-reading whatever she had written down.

"Right. Okay..." She began, raising her head, but her eyes still fixed upon the notepad. "We will make up two teams, one advance and one reserve. The former will be bigger than the latter, and will be the, um, scouts and carrying firepower. The latter will be the recon and medium between the advance team and the BPRD."

"Since there were varying degrees of resist - no, tolerance to the negative energy, and the limited numbers, those who scored 7 to 8 - which are... Lyle, Asmon and Sefa - Seegard."

Those nominated called out their assent to the names, and the kid looked up, nodding at each voice. "I'd like you guys to prep for radio and communications. Lyle, can you please be the overseer?"

The nominees voiced their assents once more again, and the kid fiddled with her notepad some more, as though she was slightly afraid of what she would say next.

"As for the attack team... Those who scored 6 and below... There are only 5 agents, so I'd like all five to be up for the advance team, which will be," spoke the would-be leader with the tiniest hesitation, "lead by me.

Ears arched as the kid cleared her throat again and said, "these agents are - Marcus, Dieorango, Ouelette ... Sherman, and"

"Hellboy."

Hellboy blinked, his brain shuttering open at the mention of his name. "Huh?" Several areas of his brains started to conflict with items of attention. "Hang a minute..." he began, but Abe stood up from his chair.

"Excuse me, Agent Weaver."

The kid blinked. "...Yea?"

"I would like to nominate myself for the reserve team."

Again, the kid blinked, and a frown replaced her puzzled expression quickly. "But didn't you score, uh, above eight?"

"That I did, but I believe I would be able to serve the team with my abilities better on the field, as well as my research capabilities. I do believe the library has several pieces on the lost civilisations of Peru."

The kid paused, but for a split second, before replying with a small grin. "Well - that'd be great. Really. The communications base can be put just outside the radius so you won't be affected. Thank you." She seemed to remember something, and turned to someone in the audience. "Lyle, I'm real sorry - but would you mind if I made Abe -?"

"Eh, it's fine," came the reply, just a shade coloured disappointed.

"Okay." The kid nodded, as if to herself, and smiled. "Thank you, guys. Those on the mission, please meet in the main hangar at, uh, 1700 hours. Less than two hours to pack - pack light too. If you have any questions - please make it quick, because I have to drop this thing back in research now, but I will be in my office anytime before 1700 hours."

"Hey!"

Everybody, caught in the act of preparing for dismissal to go about their tasks, jerked and twitched, diverting their attention to Hellboy.

Hellboy stood up, not quite sure what to say, nor wanting to say nothing, trying hard to fix his eyes on the green kid standing there and not take in further details of her face or outfit - really, it was like a poor imitation of army fatigues, done in grey and black shades with a holster at her side, the sight that curdled something in his gut. Or that she looked much healthier and with cheeks full of colour, despite her pale skin. She looked at Hellboy, her face betraying a mix of worry, surprise and eager expectation.

Hellboy remembered in time that he had spoken up, and put it out straight. "Whaddya mean, Liz and me?"

The kid inhaled, her eyebrows coming together in a quizzical meet. "Um, what do you mean?"

"I -" Hellboy felt rather than saw Liz's presence behind him, probably doing a poker face that meant a 'discussion' was high on the list of agendas back in the hole. Some apparently lobotomised part of his brain chimed in that he was literally standing between two women - get real, he yelled inside his mind - there was only one woman and that was the one on his side. Gotta think fast. Fastball.

"Uh, I don't think I can work on a team if I'm not the leader, and Liz and I ain't necessary for a scout team - we are heavy hitters and -"

The kid interrupted suddenly. "But you guys are necessary! I mean, Liz said she felt only a three on the scale with the object, and you didn't seem to have any effect - and Manning, well, said that I'm to lead this mission." She glanced around, becoming aware of the curious audience. Flushing a colour ill suited for her skin, she hurriedly scooped up the case.

"Right. Okay... Dismissed, and see you guys in a few hours. If you don't have any questions. I'll be in my office. The one on level three, room 25. Packing. And, and feel free to come." The words fell out hurriedly, and she made a haphazard cross between a bow and a salute before rushing from the room like a scuttling squid.


End file.
